THE BOOK OF THE 
TUESDAY EVENING CLUB 

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THE BOOK OF 

THE TUESDAY EVENING CLUB 






































































THE BOOK OF 

THE TUESDAY EVENING CLUB 


PRINCETON 

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS 

LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD 
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 

1922 


TS & 14 
T n ... 

copy 2- 


Copyright, 1922 
Princeton University Press 


Published 1922 

Printed in the United States of America 



JON 15 '922 

©CI.A674596\ 


1 / 


To 

George McLean Harper 



THE TUESDAY EVENING CLUB 


Robert C. Brooke 
Seward B. Collins 
R. Balfour Daniels 
Schuyler B. Jackson 
Louis E. Laflin, Jr. 
Thomas S. Matthews 
Henry Young, III 































































FOREWORD 


This book is our first book. It is a selection 
from poems read to one another at the scattered 
meetings of our club. We have not gone after 
anything but sincerity and art. Paradoxical 
couple, they have probably eluded us. Time alone 
can wed them for us forever. We are young, and 
have a long time to live. Some of us, not pro- 
fessing poetry, are not here represented. 


5 


Some of the following poems have been 
published in these periodicals: The Nassau 
Literary Magazine, The London Mercury, The 
American Intercollegiate Magazine, to the Ed- 
itors of which we return thanks for courteous 
permission to republish. 


CONTENTS 


The Bridge-Builders 

S. B. Jackson 

By Candlelight 


The Preacher 

H. Young , III 

The Lust of the Spirit in 

Man 



The Devil’s Pigstye 

T. S. Matthews 

Vision 


Night 


The Walk 


Good-Night Ladies 

T. S. Matthews 

From Galatea in Heaven 

. . . .S. B. Jackson 

“One Locomotive” 

T. S. Matthews 

Fantasia 


Peripeteia 


Spring Fever 


Monumentum Quaeris ? . 

T. S. Matthews 

Seven Love Poems 

S. B. Jackson 

An Orchard Memory . . . 

R. B. Daniels 

Melancholia Imaginata . . 

T. S. Matthews 

Private Property is a Sacred 

Right . . 


Lost Love 


Unrest in Love 

S. B. Jackson 

Through the Twilight ... 

T. S. Matthews 

Seasonal 


Guess-Work 

T. S . Matthews 


9 

16 

1 7 

18 

19 

20 

21 

22 

26 

27 

28 

29 

30 

3i 

32 

33 

37 

38 

39 

40 

4i 

42 

43 

44 


7 


In the Shade of the Water- 


Tower 

. T. S. Matthews 45 

Sleep 

.S. B. Jackson 

46 

Epitaphs 


Pears and Plums 

.R. B. Daniels 

48 

A Portrait 

.H, Young, III 

49 

The Lady to Her Poet 

.R. B. Daniels 

50 

To Sylvia, Who Sent Me Mu 

1 - 


sic of Her Own Composing. . 

S. B. Jackson 

5i 

Alone 

.S. B. Jackson 

52 

Hangman’s Song 

.R. B. Daniels 

53 

Elizabethan Drinking-Song . . 

.S. B. Jackson 

54 

Song in Summer 

.R. B. Daniels 

55 

Two Triolets 

.S. B. Jackson 

56 

Christmas Bells 

.T. S. Matthews 57 

Christmas Carol 

,S. B. Jackson 

58 


8 


THE BRIDGE-BUILDERS 

A METAPHORICAL FANTASY 

Characters : 

A Poet 
A Doubter 
A Fanatic 
A Laborer 
A Sensualist 
A Woman 
A Girl 
A Boy 

— all of whom are bridge-builders. 

Scene: A bridge under construction is placed 
obliquely on the stage so that its landward 
end comes to the right of the audience; the 
forward part being lost in a mist. There are 
many tools scattered about. All the builders 
are asleep, huddled in blankets; except the 
Poet, who sits on a bulwark, hands clasped 
over knee, head sunk in shoulders, gazing 
into the mist. It is the earliest gray of dawn. 
N.B. The speeches are to be delivered 
in a general recitative, rising into chant 
as the spirit of the rhythm requires. 


9 


Poet: 


Doubter : 
Poet: 


Fanatic : 
Laborer: 
Sensualist : 
Woman: 

Girl: 

Boy: 

Poet: 


(Starting suddenly) : 

Let me not sleep! It was a voice 
that spoke. 

Let me not sleep! (He calls to the 
recumbent figures.) At dawn 
will you dream? Awake! 

It is not dawn; the dawn has not 
yet come. 

(Disregarding, jumping off the bul- 
wark and clapping his hands) : 

The dawn is come. Awake! 

(The builders stir in their bundles. 
Muttered voices.) 

Let us rise into the dawn. 

You have tumbled my rest. 

May your bowels rot in your belly ! 
May you find peace fugitive, even 
upon your mother’s breast ! 

It is not good to waken. 

It is good to slumber and to dream. 
(As they speak they rise and stretch 
themselves.) 

Would you be whipped to the labour, 
slavewise? 

Comes there not one at the first fall 
of day 

Will scourge you should you sleep? 
Who named you builders, 

Builders of the bridge, 

Conquerers of mist, 

Heavy-eyed ones, 

Slaves, slaves, O slaves? 


io 


Fanatic : 
Sensualist: 
Fanatic: 


Woman: 


Girl: 

Boy: 

Sensualist: 

Doubter: 

Laborer: 


For certain we are slaves, who work 
yet know not why. 

My belly’s empty. I work to fill 
my belly. 

Unknowing ones! Has not the mas- 
ter said 

Toil is your portion, and the toiling 

Recompense ? 

Ay ! Merciful words, the masters ! 

And shall I suffer the pains of the 
womb, 

Great groanings and strong twistings 
on a bed, 

That my begotten ones may slaugh- 
ter by gradation 

Body and soul, sweating upon this 
bridge — 

Pushing it out into unfathomable 
fog, 

Heaving the bolts, heaving the heavy 
sledge — 

For what? The sake of heaving it! 

Find out the master; tell him this: 

Go bear children, and learn some- 
thing about 

Mercy. 

I am worn with the rivets. 

I am worn with the bolts. 

Sweat has salted my eyes to blood. 

For what? 

To what strange land, unseeing and 
unsent-for, 


ii 


Doubter: 

Laborer: 

Boy: 


Girl: 

Doubter: 


Fanatic: 


Sensualist: 

All: 


Poet: 

Fanatic: 

Doubter: 

Boy: 


Build we this bridge? What has 
touched our master 

That he builds out through infinite 
blind mist 

Infinite spans? Is it madness? 

Madness it is; and we suffer for it. 

I cannot think so. 

No! It is a land of mountains 

Whither we build, and cease not. 

And a land of valleys. 

A land of naught! 

It is the stubborn angel in your 
breasts 

Crying forever “On ! Push on ! Be- 
lieve!” 

There is nothing. 

Hearken unto the voice of the angel! 

The voice of the angel is a loud 
battle-cry; 

And his bright countenance is beauti- 
ful with virtue. 

I find better beauty in a wench. 

Let us throw down the hammers! 

Let us get soft wenches ! 

Let us lie along them in the summer 
grasses ! 

Blind ones, blind ones, have you seen 
no visions? 

I have seen visions. 

Dreams. 

Visions in dreams: a giant uphold- 
ing a mountain. 


12 


Girl: 


Woman : 
Poet: 


All: 

Poet: 


Fanatic: 

Poet: 


Doubter: 

All: 


Lawns bearing wet ferns with saw 
teeth, tickling my light ankle as 
I pass, until the blood trickles 
down over the white skin, over 
the pearl-pink nails, and I laugh. 

Virgin-mothers. 

Hear me ! There is a land beyond 
the mist, 

Even as each has seen. A brighter 
heaven ; 

No land of ours, where this is this, 
and that 

Is that; but curious, fluctuous, not- 
defined, 

M any-peopled with many gods : 
giants, 

Lawns, virgin-mothers, all are gods. 

I am the seer. 

Show us this land. 

I cannot show. I am the seer. 

I have seen the land heave out of 
the mist; 

I have seen its suns and its moons; 

My mouth is filled with its air, 

And my throat with its melodies. 

Hearken to the voice of the seer ! 

He speaks as a prophet speaks. 

(With ecstasy) : 

Build out the bridge! 

Build it out unto the far land ! 

What is this land? 

Tell us of this land, tell us! 


13 


Poet: (With ecstasy) : 

Build out the bridge! 

Build it out unto the far land ! 
All: Nay, tell us more of this land. 
Poet: It is a land of dreams, visions, 
And visions in dreams. 


Doubter: 

Look to your dreams ! 

You have forgot. Be inward! And 
again I say 

Look to your dreams ! 

Take up the hammers! 

Build out the bridge! 

Conquerers of the mist, 
Strong-handed builders ! 

I would know more about this land. 

Poet. 

You have said nothing but words. 
(Disregarding; with ecstasy, to the 
others, who are taking up the 
tools) : 

Let the loud hammers fall! 

Let the rivets ring out! 

Put your trust in the mist, 

And the land that it shrouds. 

Let us build through the mist, 

Void of the light, 

Where no vision has lived 

Fanatic. 

For the crush of the night. 

(In a frenzy; to the others, who 
have taken up their tools) : 
Hearken unto the angel! 

Hearken to the voice of the seer! 


14 


Poet. (In a rapture of rhythm, chanting 
to all the builders, who follow 
him as he advances into the 
mist) : 

Let the fog be unfurled! 

Let the hammers ring out! 

To the shore of the world 

Call farewell! with a shout! 

(All advance into the mist and are 
lost to view. The sound of 
sledges rings in rhythm as they 
chant) : 

All: Let the fog be unfurled! 

Let the hammers ring out! 

To the shore of the world 

Call farewell! with a shout! 

(The sun strikes down as they sing, 
reaching a radiance at the last 
shout. As the curtain falls, the 
audience think they see, through 
the dispersing mist, a far and 
strange country, very beautiful.) 


15 


BY CANDLELIGHT 


By candlelight should mortals sup; 

It shines within the china cup, 

As upward slender flames arise 
That would not light an idol’s eyes, 

But lure to death the fickle moth, 

That having feasted on rich cloth, 

Flies wantonly against the fire. 

Of candlelight I never tire, 

When shadows ’round the sideboard creep 
Its polished doors seem half asleep, 

And ruddy peonies in bloom 
Fill dusky corners of the room ; 

In one they fill a vase of glass 
And here a bowl of yellow brass. 

Or else within a dreamy haunt, 

Where olden sconces fill my want, 

Where through the open window blows 
The perfume of a fair tea-rose, 

I often sit; and comes to me 
Crickets’ incessant minstrelsy. 

An arrant firefly rides the breeze, 
Disdainful of the quiet bees; 

He wanders in but soon flies out. 

No longer have I any doubt 

That man should seek the deepest night 

To ply his pen by candlelight. 


16 


THE PREACHER 


The Preacher had wealth of gold in store, 

Packed in sacks and counted and tied, 

And ever his caravans brought him more: 
Diamonds and emeralds, starry-eyed, 

And great gray lustrous pearls beside — 

Yet ever he thought, as the moon grew high, 
“All this gold that I gather and hide, 

What shall it profit me when I die?” 

Then sought he the house of pleasure’s door, 
Folly he carried to be his guide; 

Each revel more mad than the one before, 

Each joy he left for a joy untried: 

Naught was left of his princely pride. 

Yet when the stars glared in the sky 
Ever this thought crept to his side: 

“What shall it profit me when I die?” 

Then he turned to the market’s roar, 

Where the life of men is at fullest tide. 

And he worked till his limbs were stiff and sore, 
Till the raw blood over his bruises dried. 

He sat him down in the shade and sighed 
For a morsel of food and a place to lie — 

And again the devil within replied 
“What shall it profit me when I die?” 

Friend, let us always his plaint deride; 

Let us seek the answer — when we've died 
To: What shall it profit me when I die? 

Go we forward, nor reason why. 


1 7 


THE LUST OF THE SPIRIT IN MAN 


I must have peace 

Before the quiet fall of the evening, 
Before the winds cease from the eaves, 
And the shepherd has gone from the hills. 


18 


THE DEVIL'S PIGSTYE 

Just out of sight, and just out of hearing of the 
Devil’s stye 

Is God’s great beautiful green country, with flow- 
ers and trees and things, 

And simple good folks living there, and lovers 
walking by; 

And a bird sits in a tree and sings — because he’s 
happy he sings ! 

This is an awful hole, this place is, and God, 
how dusty dry; 

If I could only find some way out of these mouldy 
things 

I’d quit the rotten place, I would; it might be 
fun to fly, 

And it would be good to see fresh grass again, 
and trail your hand in springs. 


19 


VISION 


I've often wondered of an afternoon 
How dull our human vision may become : 

The things we see, familiar all too soon, 

Inspired us first with awe, and we were dumb; 
But now a building storied to the sky 
Or moving lights upon a river’s plane, 

Have lost their power to hold the wearied eye 
That saw them once nor cares to look again. 

So gardeners cast aside the juicy pear; 

Divers no longer marvel at a pearl 
Of perfect loveliness; old men declare 
Venus herself is but a pretty girl; 

To wave-tossed sailors that wild, foaming sea 
Becomes the carpet of their nursery. 


20 


NIGHT 


The blade foreboding of a storm, 

The weight of un forgotten pasts 
Lie sodden in the heavy air. 

The night is real while the night lasts. 


21 


THE WALK 
(for S. M. and T. M.) 

That winter morning rose like a ghost, and hung 
Broad and as white as the white-owl’s wing; 
And from the tremulous mirk of heaven, wind, 
Shuddering out of the north, wandered the land, 
Weaving a spell of snow about the trees 
With a slow sorcerer’s gesture; laid a peace 
On bleaching meadow and the mounded shed; 
And blew from the heart of the dawn, in gusts 
and in fallings, 

To shift and sift the uncertain snow. 

Along the street the houses woke ; heads peered 
And drew within, capped with large flakes; and 
the rattle 

Of windows wakened the human clatter. The 
laughter 

Of children shrilled; and the jingle of sleighs, 
ringing 

Their chimes, and the smoke of the horses and 
the sleigh-drivers’ singing 
Filled all the street with the light-hearted lilt of 
the morning. 

Six hours of waking, and we met to walk, 

Three blowzy pilgrims in warm, rag-tag coats, 

To sweat and labour in the exuberance of youth 
Through the vague vastness of the wandering 
snow. 

Heads down, we three, in marching, rhythmic 
time, 


22 


Sludged through the lanes past the deserted row^ 
Of huddling huts, wind-harried, growing numb, 
Where no man walked the road, or hurried along 
To the next shelter — over the mountainous hill 
And down the valley, where the brook ran hol- 
lowly 

Under the ice, and at the broadened bends 
Broke through in rugged blotches of coal black. 
In summer, when the heat is on the field, 

The cattle, breathing clover and warm earth, 
Gather and amble to the shadowed wash, 
Moaning with pleasure in the cool; and stand, 
And twitch the flies, and stare the scorching sun 
Out of wide heaven to the dew-cool west. 

But now the shade is leafless, and wild wind 
Rasps on our cheeks with flights of scurrying 
snow, 

And the sun is but chill circles of pearl-gray. 

We trudge, hands clenched for warmth, and bury 
our feet 

Deep in the shifting drift, and heave our feet 
From crumbling holes where the wind whirls. 
And now 

The hill comes sheer before us, and we climb 
Past the gnarled sumach and the blackberry 
hedge, 

Where one lost cardinal hugs his tufted head 
Between his scarlet shoulders, on a twig 
Blackened with ice; past the abandoned barn 
Hallooing forlorn harmonies of wind; 

Past the loud gully and the soughing wood 
Up to the summit. Clustering from the cold, 
Like three blown witches from a spiritual world, 


23 


We clap our hands for warmth, and happiness’ 
sake, 

And stare about us. Boisterous, weltering seas 
Billow and whelm beneath us, rolling far 
Over impenetrable gulches of white smoke 
And writhing falls of snow ; while from the 
heaven 

The sky sags low to press us to the earth 
In withering cataracts of gray cloud, 

As if that final blast had wrecked the poles 
And wrenched the pillars of the universe 
To a chaotic toppling. Here we stand 
Worshipping, until the cold touches our throats 
And turns us to the road. Faster we go ; 

For light is ebbing from the sun, and night, 
Mysteriously welling from the hodden east, 

Takes strength and gathers shadows. Faster yet 
We hasten, shoes clogged thick with snow, along 
The hill-top road, where rambling cottages 
Close out the dusk with windows yellow as wax, 
From which flows faintest laugher, and perhaps 
The clatter of cups, and mellow smell of bread 
And meat at roast beside a towering fire. 

Then turning from the ridge, suddenly drop 
Into the valley where wind blows no more. 
Silence and peace are here; the feathery snow 
Falls thinner, thinner, wasted and fordone, 

Until the air grows clear, and the broad moon, 
Merging her glow into the ice-arched heaven, 
Shakes loose from tangling tree-tops, and in glory 
Sweeps down the stars. With thrilling limbs, and 
hearts 

Light as the heart of health, we part; and turn 
24 


Each to his own hearth-stone. Weary I go, 
Shuffling through tortuous alleys to my door, 

And heap great logs. The night peers into my 
window, 

Rattles the lock, and hurries onward singing 
Under its breath. And now before the fire 
I sit and meditate the day. 

Dear friends, 

Dear friends, who sweeten the heart that sings 
for you, 

Whom neither age nor bitter way of the world 
Can unjoin from me, let this day be one more 
Bond between us, to fence off loneliness 
And solitude of years. Companioned thus, 

The tumultuous rigour of our lives, 

After the flail of harvesting Time has threshed 
The vital grain from our shred, outworn husks, 
Can bring us nothing sadder than gray hairs 
And wrinkling masks that hide the untouched 
soul. 

And when our malleable and ranging minds 
Are steeled and rutted to the cog of Things, 
Until life trembles, and the sick heart fails, 

Let us remember this wild day and all 
The glory: — how we stood in ecstasy 
On that wild summit; saw the swirl and rise 
Of atoms in the womb of air; and felt 
The passion of a Spirit hurtling on, 

Caught in the tangles of a winter wind, 

Over our heads, to plunge down blank horizons 
Where old mortality is but a petulant sleep, 

And birth and death are dead — forgetting not; 
And, thinking and remembering, gather faith. 


25 


GOOD NIGHT, LADIES 

Ladies, we’re going to leave you now ; 
The dance is over ; we’ve got to plow. 
Good-night, Ladies. 


26 




FROM GALATEA IN HEAVEN 


I, storm-tossed and beautiful, 

Ann now at sunlit peace, 

Where cloud may never come, 

Nor sound, to break heart’s ease; 
Where my hair has no lover 
To crumple its gold over and over; 
For peace holds me. 

I hear no sound, nor see 
Any lover, nor cloud ; 

Nor suffer the beat, 

The boisterous urge of the loud, 
Thunderous sea. 


27 


‘ONE LOCOMOTIVE! 1 


Lord, when the light is fading on our day, 

When smothering death comes on, and life goes 
out, 

When time has gone for us to do or say, 

Give us the breath to shout ! 


28 


FANTASIA 


Strange to the eye amazing dreams unfold 
Like solemn pageants indistinctly seen, 

Wraiths of dead thoughts, events that might have 
been, 

But seemingly too numerous to be told, 

Cannot admit star-silver or the gold 
Of high noon’s sunlight or the joyous green 
Of hills in summer. Slowly walks a queen, 

Pale as a white anemone and cold; 

A black and purple robe about her flows 
As languorously she touches her dark hair ; 

The pavements kiss her softly slippered feet. 
Christ ! ’Tis a chilly wind that blows and blows, 
Yet leaves a candle guttering by the stair; 

It seems as if my heart had ceased to beat. 


29 


PERIPETEIA 


The sky was hopeless, and the earth was flat; 

All I could manage was a nasty smile. — 

And suddenly I was glad and ashamed, and 
cursed myself awhile. 

God, did you do that? 


30 


SPRING FEVER 


The yearning spring has come, and hot desire 
Has softened to the touch of sun-lit days, 
Content to listen to the low-voiced choir 
Of lazy voices that resound the praise 
Of budding nature’s growth. The musing moon 
Touches with fleeting gems the new-born green. 
All night, all day compound an afternoon 
Founded on fancy, part of love’s demesne. 

Now wonders rule, but one is not surprised, 

As half -expectant of the unforeseen. 

The languid passing of each hour is prized 
Through drowsy mazes of the mind, less keen 
For action. Thus April, and May, and June. 
Creep slowly, Time, lest we awake too soon. 


3i 


MONUMENTUM QUAERIS? 

And if I tell you that the world is black, 

And love and life mere phases of a trick, 

And then, some day, my brains begin to crack, 
You’ll shake your gay heads, and say “He was 
sick.” 

Wise folly ! How unutterably wise 

You cannot know; you have not seen the ghoul 

Walking beside me, poisoning my eyes ; 

Ye are the people, and I am the fool. 

And when I die, this is my humorous plan — 

A tombstone carven like a grinning elf : 

“No pity waste on this dead wreck of man, 

For he was happy, pitying himself.” 


32 


SEVEN LOVE POEMS 
For M. E. A. 

I 

THE LOVER RETURNS TO HIS LOVE 
AFTER MUCH WANDERING, AND 
PRAYS HER TO GUARD HIS 
REST 

From many lands I come to you, and seas, 
Finding no rest; not in the wave of the ocean, 
Nor in fixed, silence-stricken mountains, 

Nor tumultuous cities of men. 

Receive me! Let your hair flow out over me 
Gentle as the dew-fall; and with a voice 
Subtle and still, weave about my mind 
Sleep-drenching legends of worn lovers who in 
dream 

Won love, laying their arms upon it. 

Pour out, my love, some potion magical, 

My love I pray you, lest again I see 
The adventurous rising and the fall, 

The void, the vast, the everlasting sea. 

II 

AT DAWN 

We walked in woods at dawn, and she 
Shone in the dim of night. 

The woods hung in mystery, 

And the moon shed down half light. 


33 


We walked in woods at dawn, and I 
Begged for her dewy heart. 

A star fell out of the sky — 

And her love flew into my heart. 

III 

HE LOOKS AT THE STARS 

I watched the hot hands of the sun-fever 
Descend, as we dreamed by the river; 

My love and I by the river together 
Lay in the sun, together, forever. 

I watched the stars hoarding away 
One by one the heats of the day; 

One by one, into holier light, 

They wrought their fires in the stone-blue night. 

IV 

NIGHT SONG; INTERVAL 

Sweet heart, dear heart, 

Quiet, shy, and bright, 

I have closed the book, I have snuffed the candle — 
Goodnight ! Goodnight ! 

Sweet love, dear love, 

Rest until daylight. 

I have touched your hair, I have kissed you 
dreaming — 

Goodnight ! Goodnight ! 


34 


V 

HE WOULD GO UP ON THE MOUNTAIN 

I shall not sleep more in valleys, 

By lakes silver, and hills black; 

Where love is a huntress, going forth, 

And love is a pilgrim, coming back. 

For I shall sleep on a tall mountain, 

Giddy with star-fire; though a dream 
Of you lain out long in the valley, 

Asleep in the region of stars, I shall dream, 
Dream, my beloved, and dream. 

VI 

HE DISCOVERS THAT HIS BELOVED IS 
OF ANOTHER COUNTRY 

You came to me, my beloved, 

Strange and fair; 

With undiscovered eyes, my beloved, 

And far flowers in your hair. 

Strange and fair, my beloved, 

You came, and go; 

For your eyes are of a far country, beloved, 
Where far flowers blow. 

Like a pearl-gray sea gull 
Strayed from the sea 
Into a heavy-green pine forest, 

You strayed into me. 


35 


And now you have gone, my beloved, 

Forever from me ; 

For my heart is of a heavy-green pine forest — 
You come from the sea. 

VII 

HE FINDS HIMSELF ALONE BY THE SEA 

The sea shifts and whimpers 
In the ceremental sedge, 

And the blurred sun perishes 
From the mountain edge; 

And I cry out, hoarse and low, 

For my love to come to me. 

She cannot; she died long ago; 

And an evil thing cries in the whimper of the sea. 


36 


AN ORCHARD MEMORY 


So long ago you smiled on me, 

And glances said what words could not, 
It seemed as if eternity 
Must pass before I quite forgot 
The silent place, the single star, 

Seen through a flow’ring apple tree, 
When you and I were distant far 
From all the world save you and me. 


37 


MELANCHOLIA IMAGINATA 


Black is my heart, and dull; 
Dull-black as coal: 

I loved a pretty trull, 

And found her soul. 


38 


PRIVATE PROPERTY IS A SACRED RIGHT 

Damn you, leave that moon alone; 

The moon and I are pals. 

I knew him long before you shone — 

When there weren't no gals. 




39 


LOST LOVE 


You who love another, 

You I may not claim, 

Tell me of your lover; 

Tell his name. 

Is it that his glances 
Take you by surprise? 

Does he look upon you 
Satyr-wise? 

In a distant valley 
Do you think he’d wear 

Juniper and berries 
In his hair? 

Is it that his speeches 
As they flow along, 

In your heart’s own castle 
Sing a song? 

You who love another, 

List and you shall hear 

Thoughts that I was thinking 
Yester-year. 


40 


UNREST IN LOVE 
For M. E. A. 


Out of the world I come to you, where strife 
Is daily intercourse, and the feverous light 
Of battle is the guiding-torch of life, — 

Out of this world I come to you tonight. 

And out of seas, ship- wrecking, salt, and gray, 
Full of shrill winds, and the wild sea-bird’s cry, 
Where the waves cease not to rise, falling away, 
My love I come to you; here let me lie. 

For neither arms, nor ships tossed by the sea, 

Nor age, nor winds, can reach unto your breast; 
And I lie on your breast; and dream drowsily 
Of love that is a sleep, and turn to my rest. 

Yet love cries out, even as I kiss your lips, 

To forge strange armour, and to man new ships. 


4i 


THROUGH THE TWILIGHT 


Through the twilight love comes creeping, 
Mocking me with magic lies; 

And I see you with his eyes: 

Gentle-wise, and softly weeping. 

Happiness is only seeming; 

Why repine? We still have dreams. 

What’s the difference, if it seems — 

You are dearest when I’m dreaming. 


42 


SEASONAL 


When first the leaves fall, not yet dead, but dry, 
Rustling crisp to the footstep; and the night 
Drives many starling-flocks through the green 
light 

Of evening, winging and shuffling around the sky; 
Look to your doors ; and let your bins be high 
With heavy-odoured wood; and polish bright 
The crooked andirons, low beneath the height 
Of heap’d logs; and hail the cricket-cry. 

But when the first faint horn of winter blows 
Shrill from the pole; and slowly the winds wedge 
Your chair to the fire; turn to your love, your 
best 

Trophy of spring; — and ’til the night-hour goes, 
Frost-bitten, silent, from the hearth-stone’s edge, 
Dream on her summery breast, take hope, and 
rest. 


43 


GUESS-WORK 


O God, to whom men used to sacrifice, 

Take mine, and send a little of Thy light. 

If we must pay for knowledge, here’s the price — 
Take this poor crippled love of mine, and give 
me sight. 


44 


IN THE SHADE OF THE WATER-TOWER 


Pale the autumn sunlight, 

And the flowers have fled. 

To this faint finale 
Has the bright year led? 

You are gone, and summer’s gone: 
You I never had. 

Leaves are fluttering, one by one ; 
But I am not sad. 

For these things will always be, 
Long after you are dead — 

Pale autumn sunlight, 

And wind high overhead. 


45 


SLEEP 


We stand together; 

And the night falls gradually, like a dropping of 
veils, 

Rose-tinted, purple, 

Covering over the hills of rose and of purple, 
Covering ploughlands ; 

And ’til the broad moon enters the heaven 
We stand together, 

Watching the last veil fold over all things ; 

And turn to each other 

As night lets fall the consummation of dark sleep. 


46 


EPITAPHS 

I 

You were so young and so proud, 
Prodigal of life’s breath. 

(Had you no answer for death?) 

II 

You were serene and content, 
Fullness of riches was yours. 

(Now, in the thin grey hours?) 

III 

The world bent under your heel, 
Worshipful of your scorn. 

(Do we remember to mourn?) 


47 


PEARS AND PLUMS 


Pears and plums and pomegranates and peaches 
Hang within my orchard, where you come; 
Every single fruit above your reach is; 

Each and every whispering leaf is dumb. 

All your friends — the moon and stars and sun- 
shine, 

Cannot give you just a tiny bite; 

There is found no earth-beloved grape-vine 
To appease an earthly appetite. 

If you wish to be the happy mistress 
Of this wondrous gold and green domain, 

If yon see the orchard still and listless. 

Waiting for a princess fair to reign, 

Go and find the wind, a jolly fellow; 

With a tousled head of hair he comes; 

From my trees will he shake down the yellow 
Pomegranates and peaches, pears and plums. 


48 


A PORTRAIT 


Your eyes seem still to hold some distant glow, 
Left by proud beauties of the misty past, 

Who loved and died long centuries ago, 

With wistful gaze come back to see at last 
How fares the world. True eyes! Sweet eyes! 
that seem 

To care less for the substance than the dream, 
To read the secrets of the hidden heart, 

And set the good and fair and just apart. 

But when the yellow candle-light stoops down 
To cast its shifting glitter on your gown, 

Or play entrancing fancies o’er your hair — 

A thousand tales of love are tangled there . . . 
With your dear eyes to show my own the way, 
I see the things you see, in dim array. 


49 


THE LADY TO HER POET 


Have you wandered far today? 

Has kind Fancy soared above you? 
Slender jonquils nod and say, 

“Have you wandered far to day?” 

If it were the month of May 
Always, I could always love you. 
Have you wandered far today? 

Has kind Fancy soared above you? 


50 


TO SYLVIA, WHO SENT ME MUSIC OF 
HER OWN COMPOSING 
For S. M. 

Sylvia, thanks in verses take, 

Born in me for your sweet sake, 

For music more than words can make. 

You are apart from me, yet I 
Wandering, a cloudy stranger, by, 

Catch down a star from out of your sky. 

I know not how your spirit steers 

Through hopes and through wind-driven fears 

Your proud, indomitable years. 

I know that I can never see 

That highland of serenity 

From whose tall hills you came to me. 

But, Sylvia, my wild being take, 

Broken with spiritual lust and ache 
For music more than words can make, 

And give it many an hour to know 
How delicately proud you go, 

And your good god, who made you so. 

For more than music is the note — 

Sung from a lyric angel’s throat — 

Your spirit inadvertently wrote. 

Give me your peaceful hands, and then 
Give me your peaceful hands again, 

To be your friend. Amen! Amen! 

5i 


ALONE 
For T. S. M. 


The winter stars were sharp as sleet, 

The day froze to its end, 

When I went shuffling down the street, 

Hurrying down the silent street, 

Alone without my friend. 

I turned the handle of his door, 

With my time-honored shout — 

There was his book upon the floor, 

An empty chair, and nothing more; 

And a fire, long since died out. 

My throat was full of misery 
No wisdom would explain: 

The final, sacred mystery 
Of man and man, the mystery 
Of love, father of pain. 

And the stars burned on, and the moon came out, 
And shone high overhead 
In silver, placid, thoughtless scorn, 

Unheeding when my love was bom, 

And when my heart was dead. 


52 


HANGMAN’S SONG 

Put up the ghastly gibbet, 

Black against the sky; 

Where is the man who’ll hang the thief? 
That man’s I! 

He was a jolly beggar, 

Caught with a lady’s purse; 

Tighten the noose about his neck; 

Then one last curse! 

Is that his wife that’s crying? 

Stifle her whimpering moans! 

He’ll have a grave where the chilling rain 
Will bleach his bones. 

Chop out the platform beneath him; 

Make your axes ring! 

Down will he come with a sick’ning jerk; 
Watch him swing. 

He’s better off with the devil, 

Roasting over coal; 

Sulphur and brimstone do for him now; 
Damn his soul ! 


53 


ELIZABETHAN DRINKING-SONG 

When chill without, and chill within, 

And water’s ice in pail, 

The crabs drop in my cannikin! 

Knave! Warm me ale! 

When fields breed rheum, and agues ache, 
And water fills the rack, 

Let storm-clouds quake! Let winds awake! 
Boy! Burn me sack! 

When Sol has tanned my wench nut-brown, 
Nor water dares appear, 

Let all burn down in London Town! 

Ha! Bring me beer! 

When stacked has been each golden sheaf, 
And water’s ice, methinks — 

Time is a thief, that’s my belief ! 

Ho! Fetch me drinks! 


54 


SONG IN SUMMER 


Field and forest sing their song; 
Hides the mouse within the sheaf; 
Lies the slug on shady leaf; 

Skims a bee along. 

Blue are moody lakes and still; 
Swallows high aloft are winging; 
Bluebells shy no longer ringing; 
Heather clothes our hill. 

Far within a sunken dell 
Mushrooms stand in joyous stead, 
Welcoming the faery tread 
That they know so well. 

'Tis an afternoon of gold; 

Yellow buttercups are glinting; 
Sunbeams, faery treasure minting, 
Wealth of days untold. 

Summer says good-bye to Care; 
Love is lurking near at hand: 
Strangers walking through his land, 
Find him unaware. 


55 


TRIOLET 


The stars have shone, the stars are dead; 
The flowers have bloomed, and fall away. 
Two eyes have in the dawning fled — 

The stars have shone, the stars are dead. 
Two rosy lips a moment spread 
A tombward minute’s path with May; 
The stars have shone, the stars are dead; 
The flowers have bloomed, and fall away. 


TRIOLET 

Her eyes were naked amethyst, 

Her lips were rubies in the sun. 

“Troth, such a creature must be kissed!” 
Her eyes were naked amethyst. 

But frigid was the stony tryst; 

Of jewels legion, kisses none. 

Her eyes were naked amethyst, 

Her lips were rubies in the sun. 


56 


CHRISTMAS BELLS 


Christmas bells are chanting loud, 
Singing to the Lord. 

Christian heads are humbly bowed; 
In the skies the hovering crowd 
Of heavenly witnesses, and proud 
Michael with his sword. 

Christmas bells are singing gay 
In the wintry air; 

Here no trouble shall dismay; 

Let this universal Day 

Lift our hearts, and make us pray 

With a speechless prayer. 

Christmas bells are chiming slow 
In the evening dim; 

And we turn away, and go 
Down the roads of trodden snow, 
On, to things we cannot know, 

But our eyes on Him. 

Christmas bells are still, and far; 
Christmas night is chill: 

Winter night, with black cloud-bar, 
And the old moon, like a scar, 
Gleaming faintly. — 

See, the Star 
Over yonder hill! 


57 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL 


Warm lights blink through the windless street, 
Cold stars in moonlight swim; 

Chimes in our ears, snow on our feet, 

We sing our Christmas hymn: 

“Long ages gone was Jesus born, 

Who was too proud to sin; 

He told the poor man not to mourn, 

The rich, to roof him in. 

“Dear Jesus, living in a star, 

We follow you, and follow far. 

Come in the sun! or come in rain! 

Come in the star! but come again!” 


58 


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